TheBoyWhoHatedLifeItself
by StephiePye
Summary: This is a story takes place after Harry's 5th year, and describes how he deals with the problems. Contains Spoilers. Please RR.


Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.  
  
*This is just an idea that came to me while I was writing another fic. So I hope you like it, and please review.  
  
The-Boy-Who-Hated-Live-Itself  
  
Harry Potter sat in his room, well you really couldn't call it a room it was actually a broom cupboard under the stairs. You see after he came home from school the summer after 5th year his nightmares became, if possible, even worse. Seeing Cedric die the year before had been hard, seeing Sirus die was ten times worse because Harry actually loved Sirus like a father. He would wake up screaming and the Dursleys got so angry they ended up putting him back in the cupboard to muffle his screaming. But what could he do about it. He thought they might be a little more sympathetic considering that once again he had lost the only family he had.  
  
He knew the pain he felt would never go away. The ache inside knowing that again he was the cause of someone's death. It was his fault. His parents, Cedric, Sirus they'd all be alive if it wasn't for him. His parents wouldn't have died, they wouldn't have needed to. Voldemort never needed to kill them, all he wanted was him. They died because of him, all so he could live his miserable excuse of a life. And then Cedric didn't need to die. It was his fault. His and his bloody bravery and fairness. They just had to share the win. Lets tie he had said Hogwarts wins either way. How stupid could he be? And then he didn't even try to save him. Kill the spare and Cedric was gone. The spare. That's all he was. He died for no reason. Just because he was with Harry Potter. And then Sirus's death was completely his fault. He could have done so many things to stop it. He just had to look in Snape's pensive, just had to stop occulmency lessons, had to have his damn 'hero complex' and go to the rescue.  
  
Everything was always his fault. Anyone that even got close to him was in danger. He hated everything about his life. The way people treated him like a child. He was sixteen and had saved the world from the darkest wizard ever five times. But no, he was never good enough for the truth. Everything was always sugar-coated. It was always wait until you're older. Well he was old enough. It was like he wasn't even worthy of hearing what they had to say. He was tired of everyone else knowing more about himself than he did. His whole life he lived not knowing the truth about anything. It took eleven years for him to find out how his parents actually died and that he was actually a wizard. Then each year he would learn a little more, but never the whole truth. Just a little bit of it to keep him from asking more questions. And now the stupid prophecy that turned his whole world up-side down.  
  
Why him, of all people, why was he cursed with this horrible fate. If that wasn't enough to bother a person. He had his only living relatives to deal with. The Dursleys. His whole life he had been hated. Never knowing why. Living with the constant verbal and emotional abuse. No person could live a normal life after being locked in a cupboard, half starved, and abused. He was no exception. Except now it had gotten worse. The Dursleys didn't give a crap about what he had been through. They didn't want to deal with it. What would the neighbors think? Instead they just ignored it. To them there was no Harry in the house. He cooked for himself, ate by himself. They never acknowledged him in the house, except for when he had his nightmares. He would wake up screaming, he was in for it. They had no compassion.  
  
After just one week into the summer they had locked him back in his cupboard. How he hated the cupboard. It brought back painful memories. And if being in the cupboard wasn't enough they practically starved him. The most he got a day was a piece of bread and some water. For some crazy reason they thought starving him would stop the nightmares, but it only made them worse. And the Dursleys didn't like that. After the first couple of nightmares his uncle started to lose his temper. At first it was just a slap or a punch, but soon it got worse. Every night he dreaded sleep because sleep meant and nightmare and a nightmare meant a beating. It had gotten to the point where afterwards he couldn't even sit up.  
  
What would people think of him if they saw him now? The famous Harry Potter couldn't even stand up to a muggle. He bet the Daily Prophet would love to get an article about that. He couldn't even bear to think about what his friends would think. He knew the least thing he wanted was their pity. No on could pity him until they had been through at least half the things he had. They just didn't understand what it was like. Then he wondered if his friends really did care at all of if they just wanted the title of being friends with the boy-who-lived. Neither of them had written yet. And the threat the Order had made at the end of the summer was long gone, considering it had been five weeks since he'd been locked up and not one person came to see how he was.  
  
No one cared. No one loved him. He was alone. They didn't understand what it was like to be him. Everyone knows his name. Every one knows his life story. Over course they did he was the famous Harry Potter, the boy-who-lived. Everyone expected him to be their perfect little hero. Well he didn't want to be. No one knew what it was like. He would give up everything just to have a family. Anyone he knew who actually loved him for him. Not his name or scar. Just him for being him. He knew this wasn't possible. No one could ever love him. They would only be putting themselves in danger. Just look at his friends and the Department of Mysteries. They could have been killed. He had to protect the people he cared about, even if it meant giving up their friendship. He wouldn't be able to bear it if anyone else died because of him.  
  
He hated everything. He hated life itself. Why did he have to endure so much pain? All because of some stupid prophecy, that's why. Knowing that the whole purpose of your life is to either be a murderer or to be murdered, doesn't do much to cheer you up. The whole salvation of the world rested in the hands of a sixteen year old boy that wished he didn't even exist. And did he wish that more than ever. That all the pain would end. All the nightmares. All the everything.  
  
Then he remembered the pocket knife Sirus had given him for Christmas. He slowly dug through his trunk, trying his best to stay as quiet as possible. Finally he found it. He brought it back up to the bed and carefully looked at it in the thin beam of light his flashlight emitted. It was a nice sharp blade. It would be perfect for cutting. He then looked at his wrists; they were extremely thing, almost skeleton like. He slowly brought the blade toward his wrist watching intently as the blade flickered in the light. Coming closer and closer to his skin. And then he felt it slowly pushing into his skin going deeper and deeper. Then he drew it out and watched a thin line of blood form around the cut. He watched fascinatedly as the blood poured out of the wound. He needed physical pain to match his emotional pain. He couldn't control any other part of his life but this was something he could, he had total control. He held his fate in his own hands, not some prophecy's.  
  
He brought the blade into his other wrist and watched again as the blood made its way to the surface. He began to think of what the world would do without their hero. Let them figure it out. They shouldn't rest it on one person's shoulders, while they go on living their happy little lives. He brought the blade back down to his wrist. This time going deeper. He know that just a little more and he could end the pain forever. Never have to deal with it again. Then he saw her face. He thought of what it would do to her. He had loved her since the moment he saw her. She stuck by him when no on eels would. He couldn't bear to think of what it would do to her. He couldn't cause her any pain, but know he would always feel pain because they could never be together. He would only put her in danger. And he never wanted to do that, even though he had before.  
  
But then he thought about how she hadn't even written this summer. Did she even care about him the way he did for her. He pushed the knife deeper into his skin. The pain shot through his body. What about the world, could he really doom them all to eternal evil just because he didn't have the strength to go on. He pulled the blade out some. But then he thought about being with his family, seeing his parents, ending all the pain. He pushed the blade back in. Her image popped into his head again. What would it be like never to see her again? To never look down on her smiling face. He would give up his life for her easily. He had already risked it for her. He pulled the knife out and threw it across the room. He was pitiful he didn't even have the courage to do the one thing he did have control over. Maybe the sorting hat was right; maybe he did belong in Slytherin.  
  
He couldn't take it anymore. He burst out sobbing. Why did life have to be so hard? Why is it so unfair? He walked across the room and picked up the blade again. Inserting it into his skin one more time, feeling the pain. Again he saw her face. He couldn't take it. He wanted to end the pain so much but he couldn't do it.  
  
He slowly pulled the knife out and put it back in his trunk sobbing, and made his way to bed, and laid down prepared for another night of nightmares. He really was a coward. Well, the world would have their perfect little savior. He would live because in doing so the world would live, and if the world lived she would live. And that's all the mattered to him. He realized that as long as he was alive, she was alive, and that stopped him from doing the unthinkable. At least for now. 


End file.
